Nightingale
by Kalvin Edward Rumwyn
Summary: Maybe Cecil hasn't been very open about Carlos and maybe Carlos hasn't been very open-minded with Cecil.


**AN: From the kink meme. You know who you are.**

Cecil hardly looked up from his municipally approved copy of _The Call of Cthulu_ when Carlos stepped into their shared apartment. It took Koshkekh gently sinking his claws into Cecil's thigh to get him to stop reading long enough to notice Carlos' presence.

"How was your day?" Cecil asked, setting the book aside without marking his place. It didn't matter, though, when Cecil had read the story literally hundreds of times.

"It was hectic, as always," Carlos replied with a shrug. He went to the bedroom and threw his lab coat into the laundry hamper. "Do you have to work tonight?"

"No," Cecil murmured, coming up behind Carlos and hugging his waist. "Not tonight."

"Then we're free tonight?" Carlos asked, relaxing.

"Yep."

Carlos chuckled and replied, "Neat."

"You're neat," Cecil said.

Carlos murmured, "I just remembered today's our six-month anniversary."

"Is it?"

Carlos nodded and added, "Maybe we should do something."

Really?" Cecil asked as he understood what Carlos meant.

The scientist felt his boyfriend stiffen against his back and added, "We don't have to if you're not comfortable."

Cecil sighed, "I want to, but . . ."

"If you're not comfortable, we don't have to," Carlos insisted, turning to face Cecil. He kissed his forehead and murmured, "I don't want to force you, Cecil."

Cecil nodded and told Carlos, "We can, but maybe you should shower. You smell like chemicals." He kissed Carlos' cheek, noting the stubble that had cropped up.

"Oh, sure," Carlos said. He kissed Cecil and hurried off to the bathroom.

Once he heard the water running, Cecil began to undress. He moved slowly, self-conscious in spite of his solitude. Once his shirt was unbuttoned and laid aside, Cecil reached behind him, undoing his binder with a sigh. Coppery wings unfurled and Cecil stretched the sore limbs. Red feathers came loose and Cecil sighed.

The radio hose moved down, shedding slacks and boxers as well as feathers. He hesitated with the binders around his ankles and heels, but slowly removed them, freeing his bird-like talons.

Sighing, Cecil got in bed, lying on his back. This position mostly hid his wings, which made up for the slight pain in his back. Cecil heard the water stop and he held still, not even daring to breathe.

Carlos walked into the room with a grin. When the scientist looked over at Cecil, he caught the faintest glimpse of his wings. His eyes wandered down, to the talons and Carlos muttered, "Cecil, um . . ."

"I know I'm shedding feathers left and right, but it'll only be for another day or so," Cecil replied, sitting up and stretching his wings. "It's seasonal."

"So those aren't a costume of some sort?" Carlos asked, eyes widening.

"No," Cecil answered. "Why would you think they were a costume?"

Carlos, instead of answering, turned to get some clothes out of the dresser. He muttered to himself, "My boyfriend's a freak. I moved in with a carnival attraction." He fumbled for a while and finally managed to get some clothes out of the drawers and on himself.

Cecil huffed, "I'm not a freak!" He got out of bed, pressed his wings flush against his back and slipped the binder on, lacing it up. "I could stay at the station instead of listening to this."

"Cecil," Carlos sighed, "did you really expect me to be okay with this? You need a doctor, Cecil."

"I do not!" Cecil snapped, slipping back into his slacks. "I'm fine just the way I am." He huffed and buttoned up his shirt, mumbling, "Maybe I'll get overtime."

Carlos sighed and murmured, "Cecil, no. You should stay here. What if the Secret Police find out? I can just . . . sleep on the couch."

"No," Cecil replied stubbornly, putting on his shoes and fumbling with the laces.

"Cecil," Carlos whispered. The scientist sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Cecil and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Cecil screamed in half-fear and half-rage. A third eye in the middle of his forehead opened and his other eyes rolled into his head. Carlos' hand, the one touching Cecil, began to burn.

Carlos hissed and pulled his hand away. Then a force hit him and tossed him across the room and, when the scientist hit the dresser, knocked the breath out of him.

"Cecil," he gasped, staring at the man still sitting on the bed.

Cecil didn't respond. Only the odd third eye stared down at the scientist with a violet iris and pupil. Slowly, sated, it slipped closed and Cecil blinked and his regular blue irises returned to their usual places. The attack was over and, when he saw Carlos on the floor, he hurried to his side.

"Carlos, are you alright?" he asked, trying to help him up. "Gods, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you about that too."

"Don't touch me," Carlos snapped, startled by the drastic change in his boyfriend. "Don't touch me you . . . you freak."

"Carlos, at least let me—"

"No."

Cecil, wounded, turned away from Carlos. He stood and packed enough to stay for a few days at the radio station.

"Goodbye," the radio host whispered. He left the bedroom and, after a few moments, Carlos heard the front door open and slam closed.

Koshekh wailed and came into the bedroom. He leapt up on the bed and glared down at the scientist still curled up on the floor. The cat made another lonely mewl and curled up on Cecil's side of the bed.

Carlos sighed and got up to tend to the pain in his ribs that definitely should not be there.

* * *

Intern Joshua took a deep breath and stepped into the room Cecil used as a nest. In one hand, Intern Joshua held a steaming cup of coffee and, in the other, a notice from Studio Management. Without a word, Intern Joshua set both items on a table and left the dark room.

Cecil stirred slowly and rose out of his tiny, lonely nest. He took the bitter coffee and sipped it without smiling and unfolded the letter as well as his wings. His eyes scanned the words on the page and his shoulders—both sets—slumped. He set the notice aside and sipped his coffee again.

Once he finished the coffee, Cecil stretched, lean muscles in his bare torso going taut as his rust-coloured wings fanned out to stretch as well. With another sigh, Cecil pressed his wings flush against his back and, with the trained hands of routine, slipped the binder on and laced it up. A simple button-up shirt went over that. Cecil half-heartedly tied a knot in his tie, questioned the action, and moved to wrap his heels, as if both ankles were sprained.

He finished dressing and, with one hand, combed his hair back. He slipped his glasses on and sighed for the umpteenth time that morning.

"Welcome to Night Vale," Cecil murmured in a forlorn monotone, walking out of the room.

* * *

Carlos sighed as he worked. His assistants handed him notices and chemicals that made no sense. Everything blurred together and time felt slower than normal in Night Vale.

Deep within him, Carlos felt a desire to hurry to the radio station, hold Cecil close, and apologize to him for everything. Carlos gritted his teeth while he worked and came dangerously close to pouring hydrochloric (Or was that sulphuric?) acid on himself as well as some recently collected material found gumming up a clock.

Eventually, an assistant with a name tag that read "Ashleigh" turned on the radio with a giggle. As soon as Carlos hurt Cecil's wounded monotone, he growled, "Turn it off."

Startled by Carlos' tone, Ashleigh knocked the radio over, the batteries falling out and rolling off into a dark corner. With the loss of Cecil's voice, silence fell over the lab like a wet blanket over a litter of puppies.

A ginger named Billie put his hand on Carlos's shoulder and noted "He's driving you up a wall, mate. Call him up and talk to him."

"Yes," Carlos replied, blinking and hands shaking as he came back to his senses. "I should go do that."

Billie chuckled, "I'm sure we'll hear all about it."

Carlos was already halfway through his text to Cecil and halfway out of the lab. There was plenty to talk to Cecil about.

* * *

Cecil was curled up, napping with Koshekh when Carlos unlocked the door and came into the apartment. Koshekh raised his head and growled like a rabid junkyard dog. Carlos raised his hands in surrender, but Koshekh continued to growl.

Cecil looked up, eyes muddled with sleep, and asked, "What is it, Kosh?"

Koshekh bared his fangs at Carlos, which made Cecil look up. Cecil sighed at the sight of Carlos and pet the cat, trying to get Koshekh to settle and stop growling. Eventually, Koshekh curled up in Cecil's lap, glaring at the scientist still standing by the door.

"Hello," Cecil murmured. "Why are you here? Don't you have work to do?"

"I also have work here," Carlos replied.

"Oh."

Carlos moved a little closer to the radio host. Koshekh bared his fangs, snarling a little louder in spite of Cecil's attempts to calm him.

"I'm sorry, Cecil," Carlos murmured, halfway between the couch and the door.

"For what?" Cecil asked, scratching behind Koshekh's ears.

"For, well, calling you a freak," Carlos began. "Also for acting like a jerk."

"It's okay, Carlos," Cecil whispered, getting up off the couch. Koshekh darted off to sit somewhere strategic in case Carlos upset Cecil again.

"No, Cecil," Carlos murmured, moving slowly closer and gently taking Cecil's hands. "It's not okay. I shouldn't have said half of what I did."

"Carlos . . ."

Carlos pressed his lips to Cecil's forehead, just about his third eye. Softly, he asked, "Do you want to get your binder off?"

Cecil began, "Only if you're comfortable with my—"

"I should get used to it," Carlos reminded him. "We have a home—" He glanced in the direction of Koshekh's growling—"and a cat."

Koshekh's growling stopped and, slowly, he leapt up onto a shelf and curled up. Carlos chuckled and turned back to Cecil.

"I'm sorry, Cecil," Carlos murmured, "for everything."

Cecil was silent and the moment seemed to stretch on infinitely for the two men and the cat. Cecil finally tilted his head and kissed Carlos' pulse.

"I forgive you," Cecil murmured with a faint smile.

"Thank you," Carlos replied softly, holding Cecil close. "Do you . . . Do you want to take your binder off?"

Cecil nodded, "That sounds amazing."

Carlos kissed Cecil's forehead and began to unbutton Cecil's shirt with ginger movements. Koshekh raised his head and gave a warning growl before trusting Carlos. The cat lowered his head and left the two men alone.

* * *

Carlos sighed, one hand gently stroking Cecil's scarlet wings. It seemed the radio host was done shedding feathers for now. Smiling at the awkward angle of the splayed wings, Carlos continued stroking the rust-coloured feathers. They were larger than any bird Carlos had seen or heard about, even larger than the feathers of the mutant flocks outside the lab.

Cecil stirred, which drew Carlos back to the present. Cecil snuggled closer to Carlos, wings covering them and giving them warmth. Carlos smiled, understanding Cecil's explanation about mated pairs bonding by contact.

Carlos sighed peacefully and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Cecil's head. The scientist murmured, "My songbird."

Cecil stirred again, but Carlos could see a smile on the radio host's face. Carlos smiled as well and continued stroking the soft, red wings. Carlos isn't quite used to the idea that his boyfriend is a bird-human hybrid, but with time, he will get used to it.

In his sleep, Cecil sighed.


End file.
